Lily & James
by gracethegingersnap
Summary: "Your head was on fire. We wanted to put it out."
1. Your Head's On Fire

Maybe, if it had started out differently, everything would have gone smoother. Maybe, if he had walked up to her, if he had introduced himself with that cheeky smile and the dimples in his cheeks had shown, maybe she would have offered a timid smile in return. Maybe, if they had met upon being partnered in class, if some sense of cordiality had been established at the start, maybe they would have got along. But if he had done any of those things, then he wouldn't be James. And if things had gone as planned, they wouldn't be Lily and James.

The first time Lily met James starts with a quiet _drip_, _drip_, _drip_. It starts out soft, a young boy's hesitant attempt at magic he wasn't quite comfortable with yet, despite all his boast and show. Just a _drip_, _drip_, _drip_. Enough to turn her eyes skywards, enough to send emerald orbs scanning the high ceiling for a cluster of dark storm clouds. Lily knows, rationally, that it doesn't rain indoors. She knows, _logically_, that her search to find a source of the raindrops will come up empty. But her normal, rational, logical life has been shaken up just enough with the arrival of that letter - that letter that changed _everything_. And so, she finds her eyes narrowing as she squints up at that one patch on the ceiling, that one patch that could be just a stain, but that might, could maybe be, a miniature cumulonimbus.

And then, with no warning in the least, that _drip_, _drip_, _drip _turns into a _whoooosh_. She blinks. Once. Twice. Then once more. Still, she feels like her eyes are brimming with water and her pale eyelashes stick together. Water pools at her feet and her soggy black robes cling to her skin, leaking small droplets of water that add to the puddles beneath her. She can feel the heat rising to her cheeks, feel the embarrassed flush spread over her entire face until her skin matches her hair and she knows she must look like a tomato. The other first years nearby are covering their laughs, pointing and nudging their friends, so glad not to be the ones made fools of on their first day but not glad enough to be understanding. Lily wants to die. She wants to sink into the ground and disappear. Angry, humiliated tears well up in her eyes, mixing with the water already there and she wants to hide behind her curtain of hair at the very least. But the damp, lank auburn curls are pinned to her cheeks, securely fastened to her skin and offering no protection.

Her ears perk at the sound of a quiet, muffled snickering from behind her and she whirls, small, pale hands coming to rest on her hips, a gesture she'd picked up from her older sister that she thought made her look intimidating, despite barely reaching a height of five feet. As her gaze lands on two boys that look to be her own age, the snickering turns to chuckling, then to full out laughter. Loud, raucous, knee-thumping type laughter. The scrawnier boy, with hair like a bird's nest and round, dorky glasses, is dying. Lily finds herself wondering if he can breath through the guffaws racking his skinny frame. The darker of the two, the taller one with the too-long black locks framing a well-defined face, even at the age of eleven, catches her gaze and smirks condescendingly. Lily fumes silently at these boys who think they're so much better than her, because she can see it in their faces, the pride and arrogance plain for all the world to see. Indignation bubbles up inside her, rising and rising and rising until she can't take it anymore and it just bursts out.

"What," she tries to hiss threateningly, but her voice is high and shrill as it always is when she's trying to contain more emotion than she can. "What the bloody hell was that?" She never swears, never. Her mother would blanch to hear such language spout from her mouth. But the look on the scrawny boy's face is so irritating, his mouth open wide to let out all the laughter spilling from inside and his eyes crinkled up behind the frames and the small dimples creased on his cheeks, that she can't help but let the words slip out.

"Problem?" the taller boy asks, his tone indifferent as he lifts one eyebrow, arms crossed casually across his chest, the picture of aloofness. This sets off another burst of laugher from his companion and Lily watches as he has to fight to compose himself, pursing his lips shut and taking large, raspy breaths.

"We thought we were doing you a favor," glasses-boy adds once he regains some semblance of control, his tone full of false earnestness and his eyes widening to help his ploy at innocence, like that will help his case at all at this point.

"Problem? Favor?" It's all Lily can do to repeat their words back to the pair. Her eyes focus solely on them and she ignores the other students in the hallway who are watching the confrontation raptly. She is shaking, though whether it's from the chills the cold, soggy school robes are sending through her or from rage, she can't be sure. "Yes, I have a problem! How was dumping water, soaking my clothes, my books, everything, doing me a favor!" Her voice rises with each word she utters until she's practically screaming. She knows she looks like a drowned rat right now, knows that she's causing a scene, knows that sooner or later a teacher or a prefect is going to hear of the commotion, but she cant bring herself to care.

Scrawny boy nods vigorously, his hazel eyes twinkling with amusement as his lips stretch up in a large grin, so different from his friend's haughty smirk. "Oh, yes," he assures her frankly. "You see-" Here he has to pause, gulp back another burst of laughter. "We thought your head was on fire. We were only trying to help, you know. You shouldn't be so ungrateful."

Lily stares blankly at him, unable to understand how such a person can even exist. Her mouth opens and closes a couple times, leaving her gaping like a fish. One hand lifts to touch the previously fiery red locks attached to her head, the water having turned them a darker, less striking shade a red. "You.. you what?" she stutters, still having trouble wrapping her mind around what had happened.

The darker boy spoke then, elbowing scrawny boy in the side as he stage whispers, loud enough for the entire hallway to hear, "Looks like we found a dim one, mate." Turning back to Lily, his voice raises to a louder decibel. "YOUR. HEAD. WE. WANTED. TO. PUT. OUT. THE. FIRE." The words are carefully uttered, loud and precise, as if he is talking to a slow person. He makes a gesture towards his own head to demonstrate, tugging at one of his dark locks.

She shakes her head quickly, dispelling the haze of incomprehension surrounding her. "Y-y-you… you bloody prats! You think this is funny?" Lily accuses. "It's not! You… you-" she cuts off there, unable to find words strong enough to express herself.

The darker boy lifts his shoulders in a careless shrug, flashing Lily his cool smirk once more before turning to the boy next to him, slinging his arm around the shorter boy. "Guess she doesn't want our help, eh, Potter? We'll be sure not offer it, next time." With that, the two turn, heading off in the opposite direction, their shaking shoulders a surefire sign that they are still gathering amusement from the event. Lily is left standing in the middle of the hallway, still staring disbelievingly after the pair.


	2. You're Practically A Babe, Evans

**Alright, this didn't come out _quite _the way I'd hoped it would, but after rewriting it a good four times, I just got sick of it and decided to go with it. So don't expect wonders with this one. =/ I promise I'll try for better in my next.**

**P.S. In case you were confused: I'm not JKR, and I'm only borrowing her lovely characters!**

* * *

She steps onto the train, leaning in and peering down the long corridor, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar face. The idea of having to poke into every compartment is not a pleasant one, and it would be just so much easier if she could spot Alice or Mary and Marlene, or even Sev, though she knows he'll go sit with his Slytherin cronies. Unfortunately, the only recognizable figure at the moment has a head of untidy, dark hair, and a well muscled form, and she hurriedly leans back to avoid being spotted. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten._ She prays that's enough time for Potter to find himself a seat because she's getting strange looks from the other students, pressed to the side of the door of the train car for dear life. Inching forward, her breath leaves her in a sigh of relief as the tall figure has disappeared.

Lily continues down the corridor, glancing quickly through the glass of each door just long enough to ensure none of her friends are within, never long enough that she'll be noticed. She's made her way nearly halfway down before a low, well-known voice calls out from behind her, "Oi, Evans. Lost your greasy mate, have you? Suppose it's for the best. He's a little more slimy today than usual, if you catch my drift."

She turns, slowly, so slowly. She doesn't want to see the source of the voice, and she's hoping maybe, _maybe_, if she takes long enough in her revolution, he'll give up. She knows better than this, though. He never gives up. He's an insufferable, arrogant, bully of a prat, and he's bloody persistent. Her gaze comes to rest on the tall figure slouched against the wall of the corridor and she groans loudly, drawing out the sound so he's sure to hear it, hoping that for once, he'll catch the idea that she really doesn't _want_ to waste a good portion of her time having it out with him, just so he can gain even more attention from their peers. No such luck. His only response is to straighten up, flash her his cocky, trademark smirk, an expression that he must've learned from Black over the years, because she can remember a time when his grin was genuine. One hand lifts so his fingers are tugged through the unruly locks covering his head, ruffling them up further, and Lily cant help but wince at the action that is just so _Potter_, grinding her teeth together as she leans her head back, eyelids lowering to cover her eyes.

"Potter," she acknowledges, eyes remaining shut. Perhaps if she doesn't see him, his presence will be easier to handle. "What have you done now?" But the universe must have something against her, because as she stands there, the sound of a door sliding open can be heard, releasing a barrage of loud chuckling, and she knows what that means. Of course it would be too much to hope that she'd only have to deal with _him_ today. Oh, no. Potter would never go anywhere without his little bands of misfits to back him up. Somewhere inside, she knows that's not quite fair, because Remus is actually quite nice, and she probably wouldn't have anything against Pettigrew if it weren't for the company he kept. But Black… Ugh. She shudders at the mere thought of him, the bread to Potter's butter – honestly, it's like the two are joined at the hip. Suddenly struck by the fact that the area has gone oddly silent, void of the previous sound of laughter, Lily reluctantly opens her eyes to find what has distracted her would-be tormenters – and to see if she can make her escape while they are elsewhere focused. Her vision is blurry from short lack of use, and in the moments before it clears she has time to note that Potter is much easier to look at when he's simply a blob of color amid the splotches littering her sight. Then, her temporary relief dissipates and she is left right smack in the center of Potter's intense gaze. Black, too, is eyeing her strangely, and color rushes to her cheeks as she has the fleeting urge to hold her hands out in front of herself, to shield herself from something she doesn't understand.

After another moment of quiet, Potter clears his throat, the tip of his tongue emerging from his mouth to run across his lips, an almost nervous gesture. "Blimey, Evans," he begins, his voice uncharacteristically squeaky. Coughing once, he continues, his voice nearly back to its usual pitch, but still oddly empty of its normal arrogance, "You look… different."

A snort from behind him causes her attention to snap away from him, to the darker boy flanking him. "Different? You're practically a babe, Evans. What happened to you? Merlin, I wouldn't mind escorting you to the nearest broom closet." Black waggles his eyebrows suggestively at her and – oh, bloody hell, is he _leering _at her? Bile rises in her throat and she has to swallow back her instinctive urge to gag. This is _not_ happening. This _cannot _be happening. Sure, she knows that she has filled out some over the summer – Merlin knows her mother complained enough about having to buy her a whole new wardrobe once her shirts began to stretch about the chest area – but these are Potter and Black. They are blokes who go after birds like Emmeline Vance and Marlene and Greta Catchlove, not average looking girls like her, even if she has grown up over the summer.

By the time these thoughts have flickered through her mind, Lily has missed the look Potter shot Black, and the silent exchange that went on between the two, their faces conveying a whole conversation in less than thirty seconds, and she's left looking at the carefully composed expressions on the faces of the two boys. Pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, she takes in a large breath of air, willing herself to keep a hold on her temper. "You have _got_ to be kidding me," she groans. Though she knows Black is just as much at fault, perhaps more, what with his utterly uncalled for, crude comment, her scowl focuses on Potter, finding her wrath irrationally directed at him. "I am not dealing with this. I am going to go find Sev and figure out what the fuck you've done to him, and I am going to _pray _that you two idiots gain the tiniest bit of sense, though God knows that seems to be too much to ask for." She whirls on her heel, her neatly curled hair flipping over her shoulder, prepared to stomp away with all the dramatics she can muster.

"Er… wait."

The words reach her mid-step and she halts, one foot half off of the ground. "Yes?" she hisses out, hoping her tone can pierce through Potter's unbelievably thick skull and he will get the hint that she is done with this conversation, and bloody well _done_ with him as well. She doesn't bother turning around, wishing to keep this addition to the conversation as short as possible.

"Hogsmeade sometime? Me, you?" his voice is deeper when he asks this, and once again brimming with that damned over confidence she detests so much. He thinks he knows what she'll say, thinks that she's lucky to be considered a prospective date by one of the most popular blokes in the year. Lily just knows that he's probably running his fingers through his hair, and all she wants to do is scream in frustration. Turning back towards the duo, she takes carefully measured steps until she is standing directly in front of Potter and she can see the flecks of gold in his eyes and the bobbing of his adam's apple as he swallows nervously – wait, that can't be right. Potter, nervous? Ha. As if there weren't proof enough that she'd jumped off the deep end.

Jabbing one slender finger against his chest, loath though she is to have any contact with him, Lily glares daggers at Potter. Her eyes, animated in the way they only get when she's spatting with him, try to bore holes in his face. It doesn't matter that he towers a good six inches over her, and she has to lean back to see him. She knows he must be able to feel the fury radiating off of her in waves. "Hogsmeade? Are you serious? No, don't answer that," she adds quickly as he opens his mouth to no doubt make another Sirius pun. "I will _never_ go to Hogsmeade with you. You are a conceited, bratty, impossible pest, and just because you've realized that I'm actually a _girl_ and you'll chase anything with legs and breasts does not mean that I will now or at any future time be falling over myself when you're near like the ditzy girls you're so used to. So please, dear Merlin, get it through your impossibly fat head that I bloody despise you, in case you hadn't noticed. And if you'd thought you'd get another notch on your bedpost from me, you must be more delusional that I'd thought." Each word she utters is perfectly projected, her voice echoing with an eerie calm that hints at the breaking point she is at, warning him not to push her any further.

She doesn't stop to wait for his reaction this time as she abruptly wheels around, clomping down the hallway with more force then could be expected from such a slender girl. Even when he calls out, "Your loss, Evans. Your loss," she doesn't miss a beat, never peers back over her shoulder or even considers giving him a second glance. If she had, maybe she would have picked up the split second of vulnerability that passes over his face, the type that only comes with one's first rejection. Maybe that small voice in the back of her mind would have whispered, _bad bad bad_, and her anger would be cracked by that sharp pang of guilt. But she doesn't look, and she doesn't catch that glimpse of the human behind the show of arrogance.


End file.
